Memories Like Lifelines
by misscam
Summary: Once upon a time, something is wrong. Dårlig Ulv Stranden doesn't mean Bad Wolf Bay. One little linguistic mishap. Something slightly wrong. Something very wrong. Once upon a time, history is not what happened. Ten/Rose


Memories Like Lifelines  
(or How Bad Norwegian Reunited the Doctor and Rose)  
by Camilla Sandman

Disclaimer: BBC's characters. My words.

Author's Note: Yes, this was born out of my annoyance at rather shoddy Norwegian in 'Doomsday' and then went places I wasn't quite expecting. Vaguely passed on some series four speculation, but so decidedly AU not to be spoilery. A very belated backup Secret Pilotfish fic for Javabreeze, who wanted Ten/Rose and Jackie to appear. Erm, quite a few classic series references also do.. Thanks to lyricalviolet for beta.

II

Once upon all time there were Rose Tyler and the Doctor and adventures, but not a fairytale. After all, the Doctor doesn't know happily ever after, just after and not quite ever. Ever enough in human eyes, forever in some.

Once upon a time, bad wolf comes full circle on a beach. The Doctor lives on. Rose lives on. Adventures are had.

Once upon a time, something is wrong. Dårlig Ulv Stranden doesn't mean Bad Wolf Bay. One little detail not matching up. One little linguistic mishap. Something slightly wrong.

Something very wrong, Rose learns, and history is suddenly not what happened.

II

It is a curious feeling, the Doctor surmises, being removed from history. Like bleeding, only it is time drawn out of him, and being wrong, so wrong. He remembers, but memories are whispers against the roar of things changing.

Trapped beyond time, time is being taken from him.

This is... This is wrong. A rewind that keeps stalling, and he tries to hold on to the memories like lifelines.

Susan, he remembers. Susan's laughter, so very young to old ears. Granddaughter. His Susan. Always his, because he let her go.

Jamie, he remembers. Jamie's knee, so unfit to be battlescarred. Piper. His piper. Always his, because they were parted.

Jo, he remembers. Jo's hands, so very eager to help his. His devotion. Always his, because she found someone else.

Sarah Jane, he remembers. Sarah Jane's questions, so driven and seeking. His curiosity. Always his, because he never came back for her.

Romana, he remembers. Romana's hearts, so like his own. His echo. Always his, because she travelled beyond him.

Tegan, he remembers. Tegan's voice, so distinct and unwavering. His stubbornness. Always his, because she left him.

Peri, he remembers. Peri's spars, so eagerly meeting his. His counterpoint. Always his, because death could claim her.

Ace, he remembers. Dorothy's spirit, so eagerly learning. His legacy. Always his, because he couldn't direct her.

Charley, he remembers. Charley's paradox, so looped to effect him twice. His consequence. Always his, because he couldn't keep her.

Rose, he remembers. Rose's wonder, so infectious and freely given. His warmth. Always his, because she fell beyond his grasp.

Martha, he remembers. Martha's craft, so brimming with life and drive. His security. Always his, because he never had her.

Donna... Not quite a memory and still present, but he'll lose her too. He always does.

Eternally owned is only the lost, he knows, and he's lost in time as well. All he's changed, changing. All he's done, undone. History is no longer what happened, and he's sinking to some calm beyond time. A prison like the Zero Room, only the calm here is killing.

No. He must remember. He must. Susan. Peri. Martha. Tegan. Jamie. Rose. Ace. Jo. Charley. Sarah Jane. Susan. Peri. Jackie.

Wait.

Jackie?

"You're not right," he says, but the slap definitely is. Ow. Yes. That's Jackie Tyler and not a memory and what again?

"Don't you start," Jackie says and he wonders when she decided he stopped. "You know how many times I wished you were gone and Rose never met you? But don't you dare take Pete with you. Don't you dare."

"Pete?" he asks stupidly, but he remembers. Rose's dad. Rose's dad that died and Jackie's love that didn't and second universes, second chances.

"Pete," Jackie says, and the tone of her voice is almost soft. He can see now too, he realises, her face bent over him and her eyes like stars. "For Pete. Rose is coming."

Yes. He remembers Rose. He remembers Norway. Has removing him from time opened the Void again? Has it killed Pete? Is it killing him?

He dreams of a universe without him, and isn't sure if it feels bleaker because he is flattering himself or because he does dance with death, leaving life to live on around. He made a difference. He did.

He made a very bad Time Lord for it, he reflects.

"Doctor," Rose says, and he more feels than sees her hand taking his. "It's Rose."

"I know."

"Am I dying?"

"No. Martha said it was more like you were never born."

"You met Martha?"

"Yeah. And Donna. Jack too. He sends his snogs."

He laughs; Rose joins in. He knows he's not dreaming it then - he never could quite recreate her laugh in his mind.

"Where am I?"

"Prison beyond time," Rose says, and he feels her shoulder rest against his. It isn't her coming into focus, he realises, but him feeling just a little more like existing. "Don't ask me to explain. You usually do. Mickey tried, but I think he was making half of it up."

"You sure that isn't one of my explanations he stole?"

She ignores that, which just strengthens his Mickey-the-explanation-thief-theory. "The Void has been opening and closing. The Daleks have come back and faded again. Everything's breaking down. We've been working together, all of us."

For him, he thinks, a silly proud biased thought.

"Mum and I found you from Pete's dimension," Rose goes on. "Martha couldn't get you from yours. Must've been locked stronger there. Probably didn't think you'd have friends in other dimensions."

"Jackie was here."

"Yeah. We weren't sure it was safe. I was going to go on my own, but she did a try first. Didn't tell me. She found you."

Brave hearts all Tylers, he thinks. "How did you know I needed saving?"

"Bad Wolf Bay."

"What?"

"Remember the beach in Norway? 'Dårlig ulv stranden'. I told you it meant Bad Wolf Bay. It doesn't. It means 'sick wolf beach'. A pretty Norwegian boy told me."

"Your pretty boys."

"My pretty boys," she agrees, and he feels her fingers gingerly touch his hair. "I knew something was wrong. Soon after Mickey managed to dimension-hop again and met Martha. I met Donna. I was supposed to yell at you from her."

"She likes me," he says proudly, and he can see Rose grin. Same smile, he notes. More years on her skin now, and touching it he can almost feel the time passed in it.

"She thought you were dead. But you're not. You're just not lived. Something like that. We're going to fix it. Prison break by memory. Everything as it was."

"Everything?"

"Almost. Martha says she's practically an expert at it, having done a year that never was."

He thinks, trying to make sense of Mickey-and-Martha-logic channelled through Rose. It makes his head hurt, but pain has always been life.

She's not quite telling him how yet, he notes.

"It could mean you'll be a universe away again."

"Yes," she admits. "But it might not. Mickey wasn't sure. Since your history was changed and then we're changing it back again, it's a bit of a mess, really. Your speciality."

She falls silent, and he listens to her breath, realising he's not even noticed his own missing. Not life. Not death. Strange. But he can touch, and he feels the curve of her elbow as she leans against him.

"Tell me a memory," she whispers, her mouth so close to his ear he can feel the texture of her lips.

He was always bad at that, he remembers, but he can feel the shape of a plan in her request. His lifelines. Easier to hold on to with her, or maybe she has another use of them.

"Barbara and Ian loved each other," he tells her, stroking one of her knuckles with histhumb, just like he remembers Ian doing. "They were teachers. I'm not sure what I taught them…"

She listens; he talks. He talks of Daleks and Aztecs and not-quite-Gods and staying behind, and how he'd see them every year on one particular day and they'd never see him, face changed but affections not. He talks about their kids and the life they had, and their grandchildren, and how Ian always rested a hand on Barbara's shoulder, even in old age.

He doesn't talk about seeing them die, just lets a palm rest where he can feel Rose's heartbeat.

"Tell me another," Rose says relentlessly, just a little fear in her voice.

"He could never take compassion," he tells her, remembering the Master's body curve under his and feeling the curve in Rose's neck as she leans against him. "He just wanted to take everything else."

He talks about the Master, about duels and antagonism and dark mirrors and childhood memories and dying as a last spite. He talks about forgiveness to fight loneliness, and how even that was denied.

He doesn't talk about seeing the body burn, just feels the heat from Rose's touch.

"Another," Rose demands.

"I never liked my own people," he tells her, remembering arrogance and anger and aloof, feeling the soft texture of his shirt as it rubs against hers, leaving noise. "Until I killed them and everything was silence."

He talks about rituals and rebellion, about Gallifrey and fire, and all they took from him and all he gave away.

He doesn't talk about the war, just watches Rose battle with his tie until it submits.

"Another."

"Adric died," he tells her, remembering tears that weren't and aren't, feeling Rose close her eyes and letting his fingers touch her eyelids. "It was my fault."

He talks about numbers and validation sought and still growing up, about dying for a good cause and still dying needlessly. He even talks about not changing it, even if he always could, and taking more fault for it.

He doesn't talk about ghosts settling, just breathes as one of Rose's hands settle on his hip.

"Another."

"I kissed Grace," he tells her, remembering lips and humanity, feeling Rose's mouth leave a trail of moisture against his neck. "She turned me down."

He talks about life and death and change, harmony in the midst of it, disillusioned compassion and making new illusions for the sake of hope and the feeling of her hair tickling against cheek.

He doesn't talk about Grace accidentally killing him, just watches the life in Rose's eyes as his fingers draw circles on her thigh.

"Another."

"I stole my TARDIS," he tells her, remembering songs and possibilities and leaving, always leaving, feeling his breath catch as Rose's hand leaves no cloth behind at all. "Sometimes I think she stole me first."

He talks about travels and stars and past, present and future in a heart, about vortexes and his life saved even when he didn't want it.

He doesn't talk about the TARDIS and Rose as one, just kisses the lips that he once took time and space away from.

"Another," Rose demands, lips slightly swollen when she breaks the kiss.

"Leela would kill for me," he tells her, remembering wills and knives, feeling Rose draw a sharp breath as he thrusts a little wildly into her. "She fought even for my people."

He talks about leather and eye colours and will and how savage the most civilized can be and how honourable the most primitive could be, about falling in love and staying for it.

He doesn't talk about how the Time War could kill even love, just listens as Rose whimpers slightly against his chest.

"Another," she mutters.

"Rose loved me," he tells her, remembering looks and held hands and something like life again, better with two. "She told me on a beach with a wrong Norwegian name."

"Wrong tense, Time Lord," she interrupts a little breathlessly, hair cascading down her back as he looks at her.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He kisses her then, wondering briefly if shagging beyond time while not quite existing really counts, deciding he can make up his mind when one or the other is convenient. This is after all the oft-preferred life-affirming option of humans, and he's always liked humans.

"Keep talking," she says against his lips, her tongue seeming to reverberate with her heartbeat. "That's never been a problem for you before."

He talks about Peri, about Tegan, about Martha, about Susan, about Nyssa, about Jamie, about Romana, about Mel, about Turlough, about Charley, about Ace, about Victoria until he's breathless and fucked and Rose's teeth are sharp against his shoulder-bone.

This is him, then. Memories like lifelines, time like skin. The Doctor, last of the Time Lords.

Strange how much easier it is to define himself by others than by own qualities, he thinks.

"An interesting way to break out of prison," he observes, which feels like something he would say. "Prison break by shag?"

"By remembering," she corrects, but he can see the laughter in her eyes. "I needed to know you were ready for this."

"For what?"

He feels something warm pass into his hand, his flesh recognising it before his mind does. A fob watch. Wired to a TARDIS part.

"Martha and I got the idea," Rose whispers. "She told me you'd stored yourself in a watch once. I remembered… The TARDIS stored time. In this is your time. In this is your way out. It'll bring it all back almost as it were, I think. You just have to use it."

"It could bring it back exactly as it were."

"Yes," she agrees. "But I was hoping it might change a few things."

"Like bad Norwegian?"

"Like bad Norwegian."

"We could just stay here forever," he says, already knowing her answer.

"No," she says, kissing him and letting him taste the salt of tears, though he isn't sure whose. "You're not the Doctor without the universe."

'I'm not the Doctor without you', he thinks of all of them, closing his hand around the watch and feeling time again, finally time again.

"Go on," she says, and he knows that she believes they will be parted again. Believes, but hopes otherwise.

"You told me you'd stay with me forever."

"Yes."

"You didn't lie," he says. Time spent is not time lost, but time kept in memories. Forever enough for him. "Rose Tyler?"

"Doctor?"

"Quite right," he says and takes time.

II

Once upon a time there was history, time stolen and time taken back. There were bad guys and good guys, and the latter winning. After a fashion, as it always is.

Once upon a time, the Doctor lived. Last of the Time Lords, the coward with the most courage. The survivor.

Once upon a time, history was again what happened. Everything as it was.

Almost.

One little thing wrong. One little thing right.

He wouldn't be the Doctor if there wasn't one impossibility, after all.

FIN


End file.
